


DETOUR

by incorrectbatfam



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gravity Falls Fusion, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: Tim yawned. “It’s getting late. We should find a place to rest and refuel.”Harsh white lights beamed into nothing as the RV kept rolling and rolling and rolling. The road was a ribbon unfurling for eternity, walled in by thick pine forests on either side. Sleep was quickly catching up to him. It took all of his willpower not to let his heavy eyelids slide shut.“I got you.” Cassie unfolded the map. “There should be a town at the next exit. Some place called Gravity Falls.”
Relationships: Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tim Drake & Garfield Logan, Tim Drake & Jaime Reyes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	DETOUR

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindenrosetps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenrosetps/gifts).



> This takes place before the events of the actual show, so no Weirdmageddon, sorry.
> 
> Gifted to lindenrosetops. You better enjoy this, you frickin' cryptology nerd.

⛋☉ ⏙⨠☆◫⨠🜃 ⏙⎍🝤⌽⏙♢♢☆ 🜚◫⛋⨠🜚 🝤◫ ⌖🜃⎍◫⌖🜃 🝤🜁🜃☉🜃 

Good idea: spend quality time with friends.

 **Be** tter idea: go on a cross-country road trip and gain new memories through shared adventures.

Bad idea: be the only person with a driver’s license.

While Gar had the luxury of taking a catnap on the dash, and Cassie could kick back with a novel, and Kon could shower, and Bart and Jaime could exchange kisses between episodes of _The Twilight Zone_ , Tim was stuck navigating the RV across the endless, one-way highway. Memories of the last rest stop shrunk over the horizon like the sun, and all that was left were foggy minds and foggy night skies. The only thing keeping him a **wa** ke was the energy drink in the cupholder. But even that was wearing off.

They we **re** supposed to be in Star City by now, but construction workers had shut down the main route, forcing them to take an alternative one, adding a whopping three extra hours to their trip, meandering through unfamiliar rural passes.

Tim yawned. “It’s getting late. We should find a place to rest and refuel.”

Harsh white lights beamed into nothing as the RV kept rolling and rolling and rolling. **The** road was a ribbon unfurling for eternity, walled in by thick pine forests on either side. Sleep was quickly catching up to him. It took all of his willpower not to let his heavy eyelids slide shut.

“I got you.” Cassie unfolded the map. “There should be a town off the next exit. **S** ome place called Gravity Falls.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Never **h** eard of it.”

“I’m looking it up,” said Cassie. “It’s **ap** parently a tiny town—population: eight thousand. It’s mainly woods and a lake. Their only attraction is this place called the Mystery **Sh** ack.”

“No thanks,” Tim said. “Those places are all scams.”

“Agreed.” She tossed the map aside and turned back to her book.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to a grassy clearing. On one side was a single-lane road leading to the rest of the town. On the other, trees stretched to the sky like fingers reaching to grab the sliver of a moon. It was quiet—a ghost town **if** Tim’s ever seen one.

Tim turned off the engine. “Alright, gang. Let’s set up camp.” He poked the green cat. “That means you **t** oo.”

Meowing, Gar hopped off the dashboard and morphed back into his human self. “Where are we?”

“Gravity Falls,” Tim answ **er** ed, shooting a quick text to their Star City friends. “We’re stopping for the night. We’ll continue in the morning.”

A low grumble resounded through the vehicle. Everyone’s heads turned toward Bart.

“What?” said Bart. “It wasn’t me!”

“ _Lo siento_ ,” Jaime said sheepishly. “That was me. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

Kon stepped out of the shower, drying his hair. “I don’t think any of us have. Except maybe Bart.”

Bart not-so-subtly slid an empty Pringles can behind his back. Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I’ll fire up the grill,” Kon said. “The rest of you, decide what you wanna eat—I’m not gonna play short-order cook.”

While Kon set up the portable grill outside and the others gathered ingredients, Tim flopped onto the couch, pulled the knitted throw blanket over his body, and closed his eyes.

Three minutes later, Cassie woke him up. “Kon can’t get the grill started.”

“Huh?” Tim yawned. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I dunno. It just won’t start.”

He pulled himself up, threw on a sweatshirt, and stepped into the cool night. 

Several feet away, Kon, Gar, and Jaime gathered around the grill. Gar held a flashlight while Jaime picked at the inner mechanisms with two thin tendrils from his scarab. Bart stood to the side, nibbling a hamburger bun. 

Kon cursed. “It’s no use.”

“Let me see.” Tim grabbed the flashlight from Gar and crouched to get a better look. 

“The propane tank’s full and the battery should work,” Kon said.

Tim brushed his bangs out of his face and rolled up his sleeves. He flipped a couple of switches and turned the knobs, but nothing happened.

“Looks like the electrodes are damaged,” he said. “We’ll have to find another way to cook.”

Kon cracked his neck. “One dozen laser burgers, coming right u—”

“ _NO!_ ” they exclaimed.

He pouted. “Jon says they’re great.”

“No offense, but Jon says that about everything,” Tim pointed out. “Looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

“I call digging the pit!” Gar transformed into a bulldog.

“Good,” Tim said. “Bart and Jaime, you guys get firewood.”

They gave him a quick salute and raced into the forest.

As Gar dug a circular pit, Cassie lined it with rocks and Kon set the cooking grate on top. Tim yawned again and went inside for coffee.

He pushed the button on the coffeemaker and tapped his fingers as it slowly dripped into the pot.

“You know,” Cassie said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you relax once since this trip started.”

Tim sighed. “Someone’s gotta keep everything on track.”

Because he was a Robin. He was the team leader. When people weren’t looking to his brother, they were looking to him. Heavy is the head the wears the crown, or however that saying goes.

“You sound like Batman.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is your vacation as much as it is ours.”

“You’re right.” He pursed his lips as he poured the coffee. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

The autumn chill prickled his face as they stepped back outside. Kon had pushed some logs around the pit. Minus the lack of a fire, it felt like a real campsite. Tim sat next to Gar, who was whistling while playing a ukulele. Sipping his coffee, Tim smiled.

Gar bowed. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

Tim clapped, only to pause when Kon asked, “Where are Bart and Jaime?”

“They’re getting firewood.” Tim paused. “Right?”

Cassie furrowed her eyebrows. “They should be back by now. Especially with Bart’s super speed.”

Right when she said that, there was a scream.

“ _HELP!_ ”

All heads whipped toward the source. Emerging from the woods, Bart had Jaime’s arm around his shoulders for balance. Tim blanched at the sight of red and something protruding from Jaime’s foot. Kon flew over and helped them onto a bench while Gar ran to get a first aid kit from the RV. 

Despite years on the field, Tim had to suppress the urge to throw up as he inspected the sharp tree root segment impaling Jaime’s heel. Jaime winced, and Tim mumbled an apology.

Cassie asked, “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know!” Hyperventilating, Bart ran his hand through his hair. “We were messing around and he tripped and—”

Gar handed Tim the white box. “Is it bad?”

Tim snapped on a pair of gloves and reached for the tweezers. “It shouldn’t be. Just a flesh wound. Once I get this out, it should heal like normal.”

Jaime squeezed his eyes shut. “Tell me when I can look.”

“Alright,” Tim said. “On three.”

Jaime nodded. Cassie and Gar shielded their eyes. Kon was on standby with bandages and a bottle of disinfectant.

“One…”

Bart took his boyfriend’s hand.

“Two…”

Tim pinched the end of the root, yanked it out, and tossed it aside. Jaime screamed. Bart whispered words of comfort. Kon swooped in to dress the wound.

“The scarab should heal it pretty quickly.” Tim handed Jaime a bottle of water and a painkiller pill. “Still, you might wanna take it easy for the rest of the night.”

“Don’t worry, Blue. We got everything taken care of.” Bart helped Jaime up, acting as a crutch. “Get some rest. It’ll speed up the healing.”

Jaime mumbled something in Spanish as they made their way inside. Tim peeled off the gloves and shoved them in a trash bag before opening an extra water bottle to wash his hands.

“Who had ‘unexpected injury’ on their travel Bingo?” Gar asked.

Good thing Tim inherited the Bat-Glare.

⛋ ⎍⏙⨠🝤 🝤🜁⛋⨠⌧ ◫🜂 🜄🜁⏙🝤 🝤◫ ☉⏙☆ ⬡⌽🝤 🝤🜁⛋☉ ⛋☉ ⬡⏙☉⛋⎍⏙♢♢☆ ⏀⌽☉🝤 ⏙ 🝤⛋☽🜃☉⌧⛋⚯ 

Another wonderful trait Tim inherited from the Bats: the inability to fall asleep.

At exactly 1:36 a.m.—he knew because he kept staring at the clock—Tim gave up tossing and turning. All four of his friends snored softly around him. Despite the half-day drive, Tim couldn’t—

Wait, four?

He bolted up and did a second headcount.

Kon, Cassie, Gar, Jaime… 

Where was Bart?

Not even bothering to put on a jacket, Tim opened the closest window and hopped out, landing on the dewy grass noiselessly. He didn’t have to look far to find Bart, crouched by the extinguished fire pit, a screwdriver in one hand and flashlight in the other, the corner of his tongue sticking out. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Tim’s presence until the latter cleared his throat.

“Oh, hey. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Bart asked.

“I could say the same about you.” Tim brushed his hair out of his face. “What’cha doing?”

“It’s _this_.” Using the screwdriver, Bart turned over the tree root that stabbed Jaime. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it since you removed it.”

Tim chuckled. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“I’m serious. Come feel this thing.”

“Gross, no!”

“I cleaned it.”

“That’s even weirder!”

Bart motioned him closer. “I’m serious. Something seems fishy, and it’s not Gar’s swim trunks.”

Tim hesitantly picked it up. He reeled at how _cold_ it felt. Taking the screwdriver from Bart, he tapped it twice.

_Clink clink._

“That’s funny.” 

He turned it over in his hands. It looked _very real_. The random, uneven grooves mimicked those of wood. When Tim scratched it with his thumbnail, the greenish-brown coat chipped off to reveal a layer of rusted iron, like some kind of pipe.

“What the—”

“Hey!”

Tim whirled around to see Cassie, Kon, and Gar at the door, bundled up in their blankets.

“Which one of you left the window open?” Gar asked. “It’s frickin’ freezing!”

Bart pointed at Tim.

Cassie shivered. “What are you guys doing out here, anyway?”

Tim shined the flashlight on the fake tree root. “Bart found something that may warrant further investigation.”

They passed the object around, scrutinizing it. Kon tried to look inside but shook his head when he found nothing.

“It’s a hunk of metal,” Gar said. “So what?”

“That’s not all,” Bart said. “While we were out there, I got this weird feeling, like my gut was telling me to run.”

Kon snorted. “Your gut always tells you to run.”

Bart shook his head. “This is different. I felt like I was being watched. Like… like something—or someone—didn’t want me there.”

“I believe him,” said Cassie. “Bart would never lie to us.”

“Besides the Reach thing,” Gar muttered.

Tim shot him a death glare. “Like she said: Bart would never lie to us. I think we should look into it.”

“Like right now?” Kon asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Tim replied, “seeing as we’re all awake.”

Cassie gestured to the RV. “Except for Blue—he’s out like a light. That painkiller did wonders.”

“Let him sleep,” Bart said. “Just grab your stuff and I’ll show you the way.”

While Kon, Cassie, and Gar took turns changing in the bathroom, Tim searched their backpacks for more flashlights, water bottles, a compass, and a map. He glanced at the costumes draped over the couch.

 _No_. 

They didn’t need them.

…

Tim shoved the rest into a bag before ducking behind the driver’s seat and changing into his suit. 

“Really?” Kon crossed his arms.

“It’s just a precaution,” Tim said, “since I’m a public figure.”

“Right, because the bushes are _dying_ for your autograph.”

He playfully punched Kon in the arm. “Shut up.”

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and double-checking his utility belt, Tim brushed off the insinuation that he didn’t need to be a hero. He was Red Robin. He needed to be a hero.

While waiting for Gar to finish changing, Bart scribbled a note and placed it next to Jaime’s pillow, followed by a kiss on the forehead and a whisper of, “Be right back.” The latter didn’t stir; he kept on snoring.

Bart grabbed a flashlight. “Let’s roll.”

☉⚯🜃🜃⌖☆ ⬡◫⛋ ♢⌽🜳§ ⬡🜃🜃🝤♢🜃 ⬡◫⛋ 

Bart was right. Something _was_ off.

As they navigated the pathless woods, hopping over prickly brambles and ducking under low-hanging boughs, an inexplicable chill ran down Tim’s spine. Every step he took, it felt like a thousand pairs of eyes were watching him. But every time she shined his flashlight at something, all he could see were overgrown plants against a pitch-black backdrop. Even Gar stopped making jokes as the safety of the RV diminished from sight and nothing surrounded them except whatever lurked in the thicket. 

“Are we there yet?” Gar shined his flashlight toward Bart.

“Almost.” Bart moved a branch aside. “This is where Blue and I were playing tag and he tripped.”

Tim’s flashlight shined on a wide, two-feet-deep indent in the clearing. Root segments—real, or at least realistic—were strewn about, cut off by the impression. Stepping into it, Tim examined the edge—ninety degrees, as though… 

“Kon?”

“On it.”

Hovering above, Kon’s jaw dropped.

“What is it?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.” Kon fumbled through his jacket for his phone and snapped a picture. “You might wanna see for yourself.”

He landed beside Tim and showed the screen. Among the circular clearing was a nearly perfect outline of a footprint. Tim recognized a sole and five toes and scratches that looked like nails or claws, but he would not pretend to know what he was looking that. 

“This has to be a joke, right?” Cassie asked. 

Tim took the phone and opened the drawing tool. “I don’t think so.” 

He circled the broken roots—too haphazard to be a deliberate act of destruction. Then, he highlighted the parts that were less even than the others—another sign it was unlikely to be a prankster. 

Looking over Tim’s shoulder, Bart remarked, “That’s a deep tread mark. My grandpa says that’s a sign of running.”

Tim turned the phone to give Gar a better view. “Do you recognize it?”

Gar shook his head. “I wish I did. Whatever it is, it’d probably be super useful on missions.”

Kon suggested, “Maybe it’s Bigfoot?”

“No, Bigfoot isn’t much taller than a man,” Tim said. “And he—or she, women can have big feet too—wouldn’t be able to cause this must destruction with a footstep.”

Bart tossed the fake root segment between his hands. “Can we first figure out where this came from?”

“I’m on it!” Gar got down on all fours and transformed into a bloodhound.

“What are you doing?” Kon asked.

“Looking for Jaime’s DNA.” He handed Kon his flashlight, now covered in dog slobber. Holding it gingerly, Kon wrinkled his nose.

Another shiver went down Tim’s spine, as though somebody dipped his skeleton in an ice bath. The pine trees resembled broken arrows sticking out on a battlefield, the rocks looked like dragon eggs, and the mushrooms appeared to glow like jellyfish in an aquarium. Grass caressed his calves in a way beyond uncomfortable. The scent of stale rain blended with rotting leaves. A single bead of cold sweat formed on his forehead.

Everyone was thinking the same thing, but it was Cassie who said it. 

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“Agreed.” Tim rubbed his gloved hands together, warming them up. “And this is coming from a Gothamite.”

Gar’s ears perked up. He woofed.

All the flashlights shined on the same spot. Something like a tree root protruded from the ground, but the sharp, warped edges were that of twisted metal. Crouching, Bart held his piece to it. 

It fit perfectly.

Tim traced the root to the main body—a not-too-tall redwood. He knocked on the trunk.

_Clang clang._

Transforming back, Gar asked, “Do any of you know why there’s a metal tree out in the middle of nowhere?”

Kon rolled his eyes. “Does it _look_ like we know?”

From the other side of the tree, Cassie said, “I think there’s a panel here.”

Tim swung around right as she tugged open a square door, hinges squeaking. Brushing aside the cobwebs, he was met with a yellow box with two switches on top—definitely not something made in the twenty-first century.

“Looks like a transmitter,” he said. “Wonder what it transmits.”

He flicked the right switch twice.

Nothing.

He tried the left one.

Kon and Gar yelped. Tim turned around to see Gar skittering away while Kon shot to the sky. In their place, a panel in the ground slid open. Carefully, Tim stepped forward, Bart and Cassie behind him. 

Inside the compartment was a thick book in burgundy binding. Tim wiped the dust off the cover, revealing a gold handprint with the number three etched into the middle. Bookmarks and loose-leaf notes stuck out from all pages at all angles. 

He picked it up and opened it. On the cover page was a “Property of” label with the name torn out.

“Weird.” Flipping through, Tim found pages upon pages of drawings and encrypted notes. “What _is_ this?”

“Whatever is it, I’m sure you can read it later.” Kon pointed ahead. “Look.”

Tim slipped the book into his bag. “We can’t all see from your vantage point.”

Cassie snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

She floated up to Kon’s level. Her eyes widened. “Holy sh—there are more prints! And they lead to a lake.”

Gar smiled. “Beaches vacation? Now that’s my jam.”

They followed Kon and Cassie until the woods gave way to a sandy beach. Boats were parked along wooden docks, and plastic chairs and tables were scattered about. A volleyball net stood to one side. A lifeguard chair overlooked the entire shoreline.

Cassie touched the ground. “The footprints end here, but there’s an island out in the middle.”

Kon nodded. “I can see something there. Looks like a building of some sort.”

“Well? What are we waiting for?” Bart asked. “Let’s go check it out!”

Tim grabbed the speedster by the back of the shirt. “Not so fast. We don’t know if it’s safe to navigate or what direction we’re supposed to go.”

“I can navigate from above,” Kon said. “Tim, got any spare comms?”

Tim crossed his arms. “What makes you think I carry spare comms on me?”

“Well… do you?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

He handed a comm to each person. Despite no signs of light ahead, Kon clipped it to his sunglasses.

“Alright,” Tim said. “Second order of business: transportation.”

“We can just fly you,” said Cassie.

“And I can run on water,” Bart added.

Tim shook his head. “What if something happens?”

“I swear I won’t lose my grip again!” exclaimed Kon.

“Tell that to the scar on my axilla.”

Gar snickered. “Dude, just say ‘armpit’ like a regular person.”

Bart pointed to a boat parked by the dock. “What about that?”

“Hm…” 

Stepping into the vessel—a fishing boat named the “S.S. Cool Dude”—Tim kicked aside the candy wrappers littering the floor. Besides the captain’s chair, the only things on board were a few yellow lifejackets, an anchor, some towels, and a rusty bucket with two fishing rods. The control panel was in good shape, but without a key… 

“I got this.” Bart stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. “Tim, hold the steering wheel.” 

As though picking a lock, he took a hairpin out of his auburn mane and jiggled it in the keyhole. His tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth as he listened closely.

_Click-click-click._

_VRRR…_

Gar and Cassie hopped on board, the latter untying the boat from the dock. 

As Tim maneuvered out of the shallow end, he asked, “How did you do that?”

Bart put the pin back in his hair. “I built a time machine. This is baby stuff.”

Hovering over the water like a dragonfly, Kon pointed straight ahead. “The island is right up there.”

Tim squinted. As the shoreline disappeared, thick fog engulfed them like cigarette smoke at a casino, masking anything and everything in the vicinity. Patches of leaves and dead grass floated on top. Below, silhouettes of fish frantically scattered from the beating engine, seeking refuge in the tangled nets of seaweed. Time was nonexistent. Neither Tim nor the others could tell if twenty seconds had passed or twenty minutes.

The waves were still. Almost _too_ still. 

He shivered.

“Dude, if you’re cold you can borrow my jacket,” Bart said. “Er, it’s Blue’s, but it’s basically mine.”

“I’m fine.” Tim kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

Bart draped the jacket over his shoulders.

_Bump._

Bow wedged between two large rocks, they had hit dry land. Tim turned to Kon. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

“I didn’t see it! I swear, something’s off, ‘cause even with my Kryptonian vision I couldn’t see— _OOF!_ ” 

There was a resounding _thunk_ as Kon flew face-first into a tree. Pinecones bounced off his head as he fell to the ground, landing on his tailbone. Clicking her tongue, Cassie dropped the anchor. 

Kon pulled himself up. “Didn’t see that either.”

Twigs crunched under their feet as Tim, Bart, Gar, and Cassie stepped onshore. A steep dirt incline led to the mouth of a cave. Ancient evergreens lined both sides, their perfume infusing the air. The only signs of human activity were a totem pole on a rock and a hand-painted sign nailed to the tree.

> **SCUTTLEBUTT ISLAND**

“Dude, check it out.” Kon covered the “Scuttle” part with his arm. “ _Butt Island_.”

All except Tim burst out laughing.

“Can we focus?” Tim asked. “Try to find something that could explain that metal tree.” He shined the flashlight around. “Look: prints.”

Gar bent down and shaped his hand to match it before shaking his head. “Nope. Just beavers.” He pointed to a family of beavers on a nearby dam. “I’m naming the hairless one Justin.”

“Alright, gang, let’s split up and search for clues,” Tim said.

Kon snickered. “Okay, Fred.”

Bart’s hand flew up. “I call dibs on the spooky cave!”

Before he could dart off, Cassie grabbed him by the back of the shirt. “No, we have plenty of spooky caves at home.”

He pouted. “This family sucks.”

For the next hour, they navigated the overgrown grass path; the flashlights cast mini spotlights on the dark trees and dark ground and dark _everything_. Tim lingered behind, slowing down as he opened the book to the first page.

> _🜄⏙🝤⎍🜁 ☆◫⌽🜽 ☉🝤🜃⚯ ◫🜽 ☆◫⌽ 🜄⛋♢♢ 🜽⌽⨠ ⛋⨠🝤◫ ⏙ 🝤🜽🜃🜃_

His eyebrows furrowed. “What the f— _OOF!_ ”

Pain shot through his skull as he walked face-first into a tree.

Cassie offered a hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He rubbed the bump on his forehead and picked up the book. “But look at this.”

> _🝤◫♢⌖ ☆◫⌽ ☉◫_

“What the…”

Someone groaned, cutting her off.

“There’s nothing on this island,” Bart complained. “Can we go back? I’m bored and I miss Blue.”

“You get bored waiting for the lights to turn on,” said Kon.

“Exactly! Why does the world have to be so _slow_?”

Tim closed the book. “Fine. Back to the boat, everyone.”

“I’ll race you back,” Bart suggested. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you, slowpokes.”

“Sure,” Tim dismissed. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

While Cassie and Gar hopped onboard with Tim, Bart was at the water’s edge, double-knotting his laces. Kon hovered above, one finger on his comm, ready to give directions through the never-lifting fog. Tim turned on the ignition and backed out of the rocks.

“Ready?” Gar asked.

Bart cracked his neck. “I was _born_ ready.”

“And… go!”

The engine roared to life; the boat lurched forward. Tim gripped the steering wheel, a determined glint in his eye and a smile on his face. Gar and Cassie held onto the edges for dear life. Beside them, Bart’s shoes slapped the surface of the lake, kicking up water in his wake, spraying them with a pungent fish smell. Kon’s shadow followed the boat like an eagle, dropping directions around obstacles.

Laughing, Tim kicked it into top gear. “Don’t tell me the Fastest Kid Alive’s gonna lose to a _fishing boat_.”

“ _Psh_ , as if!” Bart sped up to match Tim’s speed.

“Having fun down there?” Kon called.

Bart flashed an “okay” sign. “Everything’s cra— _AAH!_ ”

Before any of them could blink, something long and green wrapped around Bart’s ankle and he disappeared underwater. Tim swerved the boat around and handed the wheel to Cassie.

 _THUNK_.

The vessel jolted as something collided with the underside. Below, Tim could make out an enormous shadow, twice as long as the boat, with a hump like a turtle, a tail like a serpent, and flippers like a sailfish. Light glinted off a row of long, snaggly teeth. Just beyond the creature, Bart was tangled in a net of kelp, struggling to pull himself free to no avail.

“What is that thing?!?” Cassie exclaimed.

As though to answer her question, the creature reared its ugly head, towering over with unhinged jaws, raining water and slobber over the three.

_Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!_

Like a plane shooting at Godzilla, Kon flew in circles around the creature’s head, blinding it with laser beams to its sickly yellow eyes. Cassie expertly veered out of the way as its neck thrashed, screeching.

“Any ideas?” Kon asked.

Gar snapped his fingers. “I know the perfect rival: the Lake Champlain monster!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever works,” Cassie said, eyes trained ahead, knuckles turning white. “Just hurry!”

Gar swan-dived into the water, transforming into an equally hideous beast. 

Tim slipped on a breathing mask. “I’ll get Bart.”

Cassie nodded, snagging the monster’s skin with a fishing rod in each hand.

The icy lake sucked him in like a vacuum the moment he dove in. The chill soaked through clothes and skin, traveling straight to his bones. With no night vision goggles, he had to rely on the lights and shadows to find his friend. 

He extended the suit’s wings. Using the drag to his advantage, Tim glided around the churning waves and spinning columns, barely evading the monster’s flippers as he swam closer to Bart. A bead-like string of bubbles floated up from his nose as he tugged at the knotted weeds, each pull weaker than the last. His eyes slid shut right as Tim wrapped an arm around him. Sucking in one last breath, Tim took off the mask and placed it on Bart’s face before slicing through the weeds with a batarang.

_Whoosh._

A scaly green tail hurtled toward them. Tim drew his staff and swatted it away inches before it could touch Bart. Deafening roars sent sonic waves rippling through cross-cutting currents, threatening to push them in the wrong direction. 

He yelped in surprise, a bubble escaping from his mouth as a pair of long fangs sank into flipper. Red mist clouded the water, but from whom, Tim couldn’t tell. He could only hope it was one and not the other.

His lungs were on fire. Pressure squeezed his ribs from all directions and it felt like his insides were being mashed with a pestle. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he maneuvered around the fight.

Through the bending silver light, the pointed hull came into view. With a last thrust, Tim broke the surface. Gasping, he slapped the side of the boat, grabbing Cassie’s attention. 

Cassie’s eyes widened. She dropped her whip, rushed forward, and pulled Bart over the tall ledge. Bart came to as she removed the mask, gurgling and spitting up water.

“Will he be okay?” Tim asked.

“He’ll be fine.”

She reached for Tim’s hand. Their fingers grazed.

_Fwoosh!_

“TIM!”

He was plunged into the frozen void once again. The only air in his lungs was from the small breath he had taken. The battle faded into a low bass thrum in his ears as he took inventory of the thick tail coiled around his midriff, pinning his dominant arm to his side. His staff was wedged in too, with no way to slide it out of the holster. The monster squeezed, forcing the air out of Tim like a crumpled pop can. 

BLAM!

A lighter green reptile plowed its head into the monster’s rib, forcing it to loosen its grip. 

Darkness crept at the edge of Tim’s vision. He tried to move, tried to paddle to safety, but his limbs weighed him down like frozen lead. The boat shrank and the bed of plants grew. They waved their fingers, beckoning him to stay awhile. Oh God, was this it? Was this his ticket to the Dead Robins club?

The silver lining was that his friends were okay. That was all that mattered.

Adrenaline would’ve coursed through his body if he had any left. His head was stuffy, as though he caught the flu. 

Wait, where did that torpedo come from? Was the boat armed?

A pair of leather-clad arms scooped him up, accompanied by a muffled, “I got you.”

Another freezing chill slapped his face. Tim registered the incapacitated monster, speeding boat, and green falcon below. Shivering, Tim pulled his soaked wings closer to conserve the little warmth left in his body.

They touched down on the dock. Cassie pulled up beside them and tied the boat as Tim launched into a fit of coughs, each one forcing a blend of water and mucus out of his body. He felt Kon rubbing his back, but the latter offered no words. Stunned silence hung like static before a lightning strike.

Gar circled the boat before landing on the bow and transforming back into a human and helping Bart, who was hurling over the side of the boat. Biting his lip, Gar draped a towel over Bart’s shoulders before tossing the rest to Tim, Kon, and Cassie—all soaking from head to toe.

Tim picked a slimy string of algae out of his hair and accepted the towel. Pounding his chest one last time, he cleared his throat. “We need to debrief.”

If Cassie wasn’t drying her hair, Tim was sure she’d be crossing her arms. “Really? That’s all you have to say?” she asked.

He whined in frustration. “What do you want me to say? It nearly killed us! I—” He groaned.

Gar had one foot out of the boat when he paused. “Guys, I think I found the answer to our question.”

He held up the book.

> _THE GOBBLEWONKER_
> 
> _⛋ 🜄⏙⨠🝤 ☆◫⌽ ⏙♢♢ 🝤◫ ⌧⨠◫🜄 ⛋ ☉⎍🜽🜃🜄🜃⌖ ⌽⚯ ☽☆ ☉⚯◫🝤⛋🜂☆ ⏙♢🜚◫🜽⛋🝤🜁☽ ♢⛋☉🝤🜃⨠⛋⨠🜚 🝤◫ 🝤🜁🜃 🜚🜽⏙🜳⛋🝤☆ 🜂⏙♢♢☉ 🝤🜁🜃☽🜃 ☉◫⨠🜚 ◫⨠ 🜽🜃⚯🜃⏙🝤_

Next to the symbolic gibberish was a detailed sketch of a Loch Ness–esque monster—exactly like the one they encountered.

“I can’t tell what it’s saying. I don’t speak shapes,” Gar said.

Tim took the book, squinting. “Let’s go back and warm up. In the meantime, I can figure out what… _this_ is.”

Clothes sopping wet, they trudged back up the trail. Not even Bart had the energy to go faster. A morning breeze blew as the last stars dipped under the horizon. Black turned to light indigo as the first rays of dawn crept across the sky. Birds sang and squirrels left their burrows, scampering across the path.

The RV had one light on: the one Tim forgot to turn off before leaving.

Cassie pulled her towel closer. “At least one of us got a good night’s sleep.”

Kon unlocked the door. Tim cringed when it squeaked. They got five steps in before they found themselves staring down the blindingly bright end of a plasma cannon.

“Bad scarab! _¡Estos son nuestros amigos!_ ” Jaime slapped his armored forearm. “Back with you. Go away.” He sighed in relief when the weapon retracted. “Sorry guys, I—” His eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, are you _just_ coming back? Where were you? Why were you awake?”

“I missed you too.” Bart smiled softly. “How’s the foot?”

“It’s fine—it’s almost done healing.” Jaime looked around the group, half-frustrated, half-concerned. “Why are you all soaking wet?”

Bart laughed nervously. “Promise not to freak out?”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well, it’s actually a funny story,” said Bart. “See, turns out the thing that stabbed you came from a fake tree, and in it was a book. Then there were these footprints and a lake and this island and—”

Cassie cut him off. “Bart and Tim almost drowned.”

“You _WHAT?!?_ ”

“Hey, the keyword here is ‘almost’,” Bart said.

That didn’t stop Jaime from bursting out in rapid Spanish. Tim let Bart deal with that—he’s the one Jaime was fussing over, anyway. 

Slipping into the bathroom, Tim peeled off the wet uniform and hung it on a hook to dry. Too lazy to put on a shirt, he settled for a pair of basketball shorts before stepping out. He plopped in front of the table with the journal and a laptop. Cracking his knuckles, he opened the book.

“Timmy! Blue and I are getting food. You want anything?”

Tim shook his head. He flipped the page.

“Yo, Timbo, I’m gonna find something fun to do. Wanna come?”

He waved Kon off.

“Hey, Tim, I’ll try to find a store. What do we need?”

“Drinks, snacks, gasoline, bandages.”

Gar scoffed. “What do I look like, a pack mule? Don’t answer that.”

One by one, the team members dispersed from the RV. The only person left was Cassie, who would rather take a nap than explore the town.

_Focus._

Rubbing the back of his neck, Tim strained to make out the peculiar characters lining the page. They reminded him of hieroglyphs. Strange, never-before-seen hieroglyphs.

> _⛋ ⨠🜃🜃⌖🜃⌖ ⏙⨠ 🜃↔🝤🜽🜃☽🜃♢☆ ♢◫⨠🜚 ⬡♢◫⎍⌧ ◫🜂 ⎍⛋⚯🜁🜃🜽☉ 🝤◫ ☽⏙⌧🜃 ⛋🝤 ♢◫◫⌧ ♢⛋⌧🜃 🝤⛋☽ ⛋☉ ⌖◫⛋⨠🜚 ⏙ 🝤◫⨠ ◫🜂 🜄◫🜽⌧ ☉◫ ⌽🜁🜁🜁_
> 
> _⚯♢🜃⏙☉🜃 ♢🜃⏙🜳🜃 ⌧⌽⌖◫☉, ⎍◫☽☽🜃⨠🝤, ⬡◫◫⌧☽⏙🜽⌧, ⏙⨠⌖ ☉⌽⬡☉⎍🜽⛋⬡🜃_
> 
> _⛋ ♢◫🜳🜃 🜄🜁⏙🝤 ⛋ ⌖◫ ⏙⨠⌖ ⛋ 🜽🜃⏙♢♢☆ 🜄⏙⨠⨠⏙ ⌧⨠◫🜄 ⛋🜂 ☆◫⌽ 🜚⌽☆☉ ⌖◫ 🝤◫◫_
> 
> _⏙ ♢⛋🝤🝤♢🜃 ⏙🜂🜂⛋🜽☽⏙🝤⛋◫⨠ 🜚◫🜃☉ ⏙ ♢◫⨠🜚 🜄⏙☆ 🜂◫🜽 ⎍◫⨠🝤🜃⨠🝤 ⎍🜽🜃⏙🝤◫🜽☉_

He rubbed his temple. 

One thing was for sure: he had his work cut out for him.

🜽🜃⌖ 🜽◫⬡⛋⨠ ☆⌽☽ 

“I’m just saying, the song ‘Skyfall’ by Adele tastes like a dark chocolate mousse.”

“I hate how right that sounds.”

Hand-in-hand, Bart and Jaime continued to debate the gastronomical experience of popular songs as they followed a narrow-cracked sidewalk. Bart wondered if a speedster’s metabolism affected their other senses—he smelled coffee and heard bacon sizzling before the restaurant came into view. His stomach growled.

Jaime laughed. “Looks like all the food talk’s making you hungry.”

“And whose wallet will suffer from that?” Bart teased.

Jaime held up a Wayne Enterprises credit card. “Not this time.”

They approached a burnt red log-shaped diner aptly named “Greasy’s”, resting on top of a train car labeled “Gravity Falls 1883”. Next to that was a wide table-like stump, as though the tree had been chopped down and carved into an eatery on the spot. Hanging from a light pole was a banner saying “EAT” and under the title sign was a smaller one reading “We have food”. An old payphone sat nearby with its rusted box. Though it was early, cars filled nearly every parking space, a few of them containing people eating from takeout boxes. One picnic table had a possum eating from a can of beans, only to be rudely chased away by an old lady with a room.

“This looks like a good spot,” said Bart.

“You said that once about a vending machine in the junkyard.”

Bart threw an arm around Jaime. “Come on, it’ll be great. Plus, we’ll finally get some us time. We haven’t had that this entire trip.”

“Ah, yes, alone time,” Jaime said. “Just you, me, Khaji Da, a bunch of random townspeople, and a possum.” 

“That’s the spirit!”

The inside was more or less what Bart expected. Tattered booths lined the plain wooden walls. Basketball-sized lights hung over the center aisle. At the bar, a college-aged server was trying (to no avail) to explain to a customer it was physically impossible to make an ingredient-free omelet. A trio of redheaded kids ran around with a toy ax. Behind the counter, a cook ladled thick batter into a pan. 

As Bart and Jaime slid into an empty spot, a waitress with a lazy eye greeted them and handed them each a menu.

“Anything I can do to getcha started?” she asked.

Bart looked at Jaime.

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

He turned back to the waitress. “Two coffees, please. One black, one with five creams and eight sugars.”

“Just inject yourself with corn syrup, why don’t you,” Jaime muttered.

The waitress jotted it down. “I’ll leave you two to check the menu.”

Bart closed the menu—he got the same thing at every restaurant, anyway. He leaned across the table and laced his fingers with Jaime’s. “How’s the injury? Still hurting.”

Jaime shook his head. “Scarab’s taken care of it. All I needed was some extra sleep.”

“Good. Though, I’m still mad at you for worrying me last night.”

“Says the guy who nearly drowned!”

“Hey, the keyword here is ‘nearly’,” Bart said. He squeezed Jaime’s hand, voice lowering. “I was scared, too. I don’t wanna leave you alone.”

Jaime squeezed back. “That makes two of us.” 

He glanced down at their hands. “Is this… safe? You know how small towns are.”

“I would think so.” Bart cocked his head a pair of police officers sharing a milkshake and calling each other pet named.

“Huh.” Jaime clicked his tongue. “You know, I’m still not sure how to feel about gay cops.”

“Neither do I.”

The waitress returned with two steaming mugs. “Here you go. Ready to order.”

“Yes.” Bart handed back the menu. “I’ll have one of everything.”

“Just the pancakes for me,” Jaime said. He glanced at Bart. “Maybe throw in a couple extra.”

“Gotcha,” she said. “While you wait, you’re free to test your hand at that there doohickey.” The woman gestured to a grip strength machine. “Winner gets free pancakes.”

“Crash!”

Bart zoomed over to the machine, eyeing it. At the top, a wrestler figure held a sign reading, “Test Your Manliness”. Below that, circular lights were next to labels such as “Manly Man”, “Man”, “Barely Passable”, and “Middle-Aged Woman”, with “Wimp” at the very bottom. Was it sexist? Yes. But did Bart want free pancakes? Also yes. It was the same ethical dilemma as Hooters. 

Whatever. Gender roles didn’t matter, but pancakes did. Cracking his knuckles, he planted his feet on the ground and wrapped his hands around the lever. With an animalistic grunt, Bart squeezed with all the strength in his body.

The first light lit up. Then the second. It blinked at “Barely Passable” before winding back down. Bart should’ve expected it, but he couldn’t help the wave of disappointment wash over him. _The pancakes. It was all about the pancakes._

He fell to his knees and cried, “Why has the universe forsaken me?”

Jaime snickered. “Don’t you think you ordered enough?”

Bart gasped. “There is no such thing as enough with pancakes!”

“I’m dating a garbage disposal.”

Bart grabbed his boyfriend’s face. “Use the scarab to win this.”

Through squished cheeks, Jaime said, “That’s cheating.”

“Pretty please?” Bart asked. “I will love you forever.”

Jaime pretended to think. “Hm… can’t say no to forever.”

Stepping back, Jaime placed one hand on the handle. Under his sweatshirt sleeve, black armor encased his arm all the way to his fingertips. He checked over his shoulder before squeezing.

_Ding ding ding!_

The lightbulbs lit up like a Las Vegas casino. Bells and music echoed through the restaurant. The armor retracted as the staff came forward to congratulate him. 

Bart wrapped his arms around Jaime. “I knew you could do it! You’re the best.”

Jaime rolled his eyes fondly. “The things I do for you.”

After the hearty meal, they left the place a bag of leftovers the size of a small child, giggling over an obscure movie reference. The pine-scented breeze ruffled Bart’s hair as he slipped under Jaime’s arm for warmth.

They paused at the phone box. Jaime tucked a strand of hair behind Bart’s ear. Like every time before, Bart draped his arms over Jaime’s shoulders and closed his eyes as their lips connected. And like before, Bart smiled into it.

The bush rustled. Bart opened one eye. Something red and pointy flashed in the corner of his eye before disappearing into the shrub.

“Did you see that?”

Jaime opened his eyes. “See what?”

Bart pointed to the bush. “In there.”

Bending down, Jaime pulled the branches aside to reveal a lawn gnome nestled among the leaves.

“Seriously? That’s what got you all worked up? It’s not even—” 

He poked it in the eye. 

It screamed. 

Jaime screamed. 

Bart screamed. 

The gnome started running.

“Come on, let’s catch it!” 

Without waiting for an answer, Bart zoomed off, scanning the shrouded forest patch for any sign of the little bearded creature. Two seconds later, Jaime was beside him, fully armored. His blades sliced through the foliage in sharp, clean strokes; his wings beating like a hummingbird. Dried grass and twigs crunched under Bart’s feet, and the low-hanging branches tickled as he phased through them.

He skid to a stop in a clear patch. “Where’d it go?”

“Khaji Da, scan for heat signatures.” 

Jaime pointed straight ahead. “That way.”

A minute later, they stumbled out of the woods into an empty, pothole-laden parking lot. At the end, a decrepit convenience stood with a single light flickering inside and an unlit sign reading, “Dusk 2 Dawn”. The gnome was gone.

Jaime cursed in Spanish. “We lost it.”

But Bart had already moved on from that. A shadow slinked across one window, only to disappear like a fading hologram.

He beckoned to Jaime. “Gimme your phone.”

“Use your own.”

Bart held up the waterlogged phone, and Jaime begrudgingly handed his over. Turning on the flashlight, Bart stepped closer.

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked.

“Getting a better look.”

“This is exactly how people die in horror movies.”

Bart wiped the rust-colored grime off the glass door and peered inside. A single lightbulb dangled precariously from the ceiling, flickering as though it’d burn out any second. Ceiling-high shelves cast shadows on the unswept tile. He shoved the door open with his elbow. The scarab shined a flashlight over Jaime’s shoulder.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Jaime said.

Bart coughed as a strong, musty smell hit him. “We’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Feral animals. Serial killers. _La Llorona_.”

To Bart’s surprise, the refrigerators were up and running—as evidenced by the handprint he left on the frosty pane.

“Bet Tim would want something,” Bart said, eyeing the energy drink cans. “What’s the most caffeine a non-speedster can have?”

Jaime crossed his arms. “Are you sure those are good? When was the last time this place was open?”

“Hopefully not too long ago,” Bart replied, “‘cause I could go for some Chicken Whizees right about now.” He handed the phone back. “Text the others. Ask them if they want anything.”

“Isn’t Gar supposed to be doing the shopping?”

Bart shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t heard from him since this morning.”

They split up, Jaime checking the fridges for Tim’s caffeine and Bart scouring the aisles for his favorite junk food. The bags all looked the same in their off-brand logos. He was so busy scanning the shelves he didn’t notice something in the way until his shin bumped into it.

“What the—”

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the aisle, staring blankly ahead, Gar was holding a plastic pouch in one hand and gnawed on a candy stick, mumbling gibberish under his breath.

“Babe, you might wanna see this.”

⏀⏙⛋☽🜃 🜽🜃☆🜃☉ ⛋☉ ⛋☽⚯⌽♢☉🜃 ⎍◫⨠🝤🜽◫♢ 

_KA-BLAM!_

_“Game over. Please insert another token to continue.”_

“Seriously?!?” Kon slapped the side of the Fight Fighters machine. “I was this close to beating Dr. Karate!”

He dug through his pocket for more tokens, only to find that he was down to his last one. Kon huffed. Where was Tim’s credit card when he needed it?

The timer on the game ran out, and it dispensed a meter-long strip of tickets. Kon snatched it and shoved it into his pocket before plopping down on the only bench that wasn’t covered in chewed gum.

Normally, the blinking lights, cheery music, and tacky carpet would mean he was in paradise. But without his friends, the arcade felt no different from a doctor’s office. He had played all the games they had, from the claw machine to the BurgerTime ripoff, and now he was just the weird-looking loner who looked too old for a place crawling with preteens and tired chaperones.

Kon flipped the coin. “Heads for one more game, tails for going down.”

It landed on heads. He took it to the closest machine—a tarot card dispenser—and dropped it into the slot. The tuxedo-wearing animatronic baby spun around as carnival music played.

He tapped his foot. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Where the tickets would’ve been, the machine spat out a light blue cardstock strip instead. One side was just the logo—some guy called Li’l Gideon—against a patterned backdrop. Kon flipped it over. The other side held a sketch of two identical birds with a brief description underneath.

**“You will soon be faced with a difficult decision.”**

“ _Pfft_.” Kon tossed it over his shoulder. “Like that’s not every day of my life.”

Just as he was about to step out the door, a cry caught his attention. 

“Hey, give them back!”

He whipped his head toward a trio of middle school girls. Two of them—a pink-shirted one and one wearing large glasses—were trying to grab a large bundle of tickets being held out of their reach by a rich-looking blonde girl. The latter’s parents were nearby, watching and doing nothing.

The glasses girl begged, “Pacifica, _please_. We worked all day to get those.”

“Too bad,” the blonde said. “I want it, so I’m getting it.”

If there was one thing Kon Kent hated, it was bullies. He rolled up his sleeves and flew over. “Is something wrong here?”

The parents’ jaws dropped, and the mother exclaimed, “It’s Superboy!”

“What—” Kon glanced down at the “S” on his chest as he hovered an inch above the ground. “Huh, apparently it is. Er, I mean, yes, I am. It’s me, Superboy. Here to, um, protect the citizens, or like, whatever.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” said the father. “This is a wonderful publicity opportunity—”

Kon held up his hand. “Save it.” He turned to the girl and pointed at the tickets. “I believe those don’t belong to you.”

She scoffed. “So?”

The girl’s attitude reminded Kon of Tim’s little brother—except Damian Wayne never swiped other children’s arcade tickets. Nonetheless, he’s had plenty of experience with brats. 

Kon crossed his arms. “You’re not five. You should know better than to steal. Now give these two their tickets back.”

The mother interjected. “It’s fine. She does it all the time. It runs in the family. We encourage her to be a go-getter.”

He narrowed his eyes. “There’s a difference between being a go-getter and being greedy. You’re her parents. You should set a better example.” The girl whined as he plucked the bundle from her fingers. “Take this as a lesson, kid: you’ll get a lot farther in life if you care about other people.”

Kon gave the tickets back to the other girls. He pointed to the prize counter. “Pro tip: go for the inflatable hammer.”

His super strength couldn’t have prepared him for the onslaught of hugs as the pair threw their arms around him.

“Thank you,” Pink Shirt said.

“No one has ever stood up for us,” said Glasses Girl.

Kon smiled softly. “Hey, it’s what heroes do. By the way, does one of you have a phone? I dropped mine in the lake.”

The girl with the glasses handed hers over. Arm extended, he crouched to their height. “Selfie time!”

Once they picked out a fun filter and stickers, Kon sent it to his friends with the caption:

> **guess who got replaced suckers**

“Thanks,” he said. “I gotta head back, but have a nice day and, um, stay in school or something.”

(Dear God, he’s turning into Clark.)

⬡☆ 🝤🜁🜃 🜄⏙☆ 🝤🜁⛋☉ ⛋☉ ⨠⛋⨠🜃🝤⛋🜃☉ ♢🜃⏙🝤🜁🜃🜽 ⏀⏙⎍⌧🜃🝤 🜁⛋☽⬡◫ ⌧◫⨠ 

Drinks, snacks, gasoline, bandages.

Gar repeated the list in his head as he went from store to store, but nothing in this town was marked at a reasonable cost. Eighteen dollars for a box of granola bars? Heck nah.

His last resort—according to a quick search on the library computer, because his phone was still wet—was a place on the outskirts, opposite of where the RV was parked: some place called “Dusk 2 Dawn”. The webpage offered no information—not even operating hours—so he had to hope for the best.

The store looked run-down, but the neon green sign blinked and a light was on inside—he took that as a good sign. When Gar pushed the door, it swung open with ease.

It was devoid of customers; clearly business wasn’t booming. 

He called out, “Hello?”

Gar shrugged. The employees were probably out back, doing whatever it was minimum wage employees did to get out of standing at an empty counter. Gar wasn’t sure if the goat sleeping in the corner counted. 

At Gar’s footsteps, it opened its eyes and bleated. “ _Maa_.”

“ _Maa?_ ” Gar asked.

“ _Maa_ ,” the goat replied.

“ _Maa maa_.”

“ _Maa_.”

“ _Maa!_ ”

He patted the goat’s head. “Thanks, _maa_ n.”

Gar grabbed a shopping basket next to a stack of 1995 newspapers and began filling it with all different items—bandages for the first aid kit, Bart’s Chicken Whizees, a gallon of gas, Tim’s energy drinks, Cassie’s pastries. The shelves’ shadows stretched across the battered linoleum, and Gar couldn’t shake the way the place smelled like a residence home. He occasionally glanced up to see if an employee had returned.

Either the windows were heavily tinted or the shop was a portal to another timeline, because when he looked outside, he saw an indigo sky and the pitch-black silhouette of the forest painted against it like a mural. But when he checked his watch, it was only ten-thirty. 

A chill ran up his spine, only to be intercepted like a radio wave at the base of his skull and shoved into the back of his mind. The flickering yellow lightbulb gave him a headache as he couldn’t decide between using regular or nocturnal vision. 

What next? Oh yeah, ice for the cooler.

Gar opened the freezer.

Floating above the bags was a disembodied brain with long eyestalks and denture-like teeth. Nerves branched out from the base, forming spindly, grotesque fingers. Around it, a blue fog-like aura pulsed. It made eye contact with him, and the thin skin around its mouth stretched into a smile.

Gar closed the freezer.

All that was left to do was wait for the employee to return. Gar had placed the basket on the checkout counter and begun counting his money when a canary-colored stand caught his eye. He moved aside the “DO NOT SELL” tape.

“Smile Dip? Never heard of that.”

Stuck to the pink plastic package was a long, popsicle stick–sized piece of candy. When he opened the bag, a cloud of glitter and sugar was released into the air. A few grains landed on his tongue. He smacked his lips.

“Huh, that’s not so bad.”

Gar scooped some more with the stick and stuck the concoction in his mouth.

_WHOOSH!_

The next thing he knew, he was plummeting toward a Barbie-pink ground. Gar squeezed his eyes shut, praying that the impact wouldn’t hurt.

_Boing._

The ground caved beneath him like a sponge. Gar scrambled to his feet. His eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight before him. 

Between his toes, he felt the wispy strands of shredded cotton candy grass. A butterscotch tree stretched over him, offering caramel apples and sugar plums at the tips of its drooping branches. Purple squirrels chittered as they stuffed roasted walnuts into their chubby cheeks. Inside a nest, a pair of robins sparred with sticks between their beaks. A hot chocolate river cut through the sparkling bubblegum hills, and the heads of marshmallow koi popped out from beneath the currents.

Gar plucked an apple from the tree. The rough bark appeared to shift, forming a smiling face, like a grandmother offering gingerbreads. 

He threw his arm around the tree, hugging it close. “I love you, magical candy land!”

 _Poof!_ A giant yellow puppy appeared before him.

“Hey, Gar, wanna ride off into the sunset?”

“Would I!”

He hopped on the dog’s back.

“Try my fur,” the dog said. “It tastes like lemon drops!”

“I’m a vegetarian, but sure!”

He plucked a fistful of fur and shoved it into his mouth. It melted instantly, coating his tongue in the most sublime citrus candy flavor.

Gar whooped at the top of his lungs. “This place is the greatest!” He pointed toward the peach-colored horizon. “The future is in the past. Onward, my loyal Flavor Pup!”

♢🜃🜚⛋🝤 ⛋ ⏙♢☽◫☉🝤 🜂◫🜽🜚◫🝤 ⏙⬡◫⌽🝤 🜚⏙🜽 

The longer Tim pored over the journal—the more pages he flipped through, the more strings of symbols he tried and failed to decode—the less it made sense. Ink drawings and illegible margin scribbles weighed each entry down like a safe. But what on earth could it be hiding?

Someone was punking him. That had to be it. Why else would there be a detailed sketch of a bird with a question mark head?

He shook his head. His gut told him this was real, and if Tim learned anything from being a hero, it was to trust his instinct. Plus, no one besides his siblings would go through this much effort for a prank, and he doubted Red Hood would make a pit stop in Nowhere, Oregon.

Tim ran his fingers through his hair, and when he drew them back, they shined with sweat and oil. Next to him, a portable fan whirred, sending a pathetic warm breeze to his left side. His knees sweated from the overheating laptop. The stale smell of Kon’s hairspray, Cassie’s makeup, and everyone’s lake-soaked uniforms lingered throughout the RV. Despite that, Tim’s stomach grumbled.

He grabbed his “World’s Okayest Robin” mug, only to sigh when he saw it was empty. His temples pulsed as he dragged himself to the coffee machine.

Before he could grab it, Cassie snatched the pot from his hands.

“I think that’s enough.”

Tim grumbled under his breath.

“And put on a shirt,” she said. “And maybe some deodorant, too.”

“Later,” he said. “Once I figure out this code.”

“How far along are you?”

“Let’s see…” Tim said. “I was at zero percent when I started. That was nearly three hours ago, so now I’m at… zero percent.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m gonna be frank with you: you’re acting a lot like Batman and it’s frustrating.”

Tim plopped back onto the sticky leather couch, turning back to the book, computer, and sticky note–covered coffee table.

Cassie sat down beside him. “This was meant to be a vacation—just us, as friends, with no hero duties. But now you’ve gone and turned it into another case.”

Tim buried his face in his hands, groaning. He was supposed to be a detective. He was supposed to be a _hero_.

“I need to do this,” he said.

“Why?”

To prove himself. To satisfy the basic human need for closure. To show the world that Tim Drake was more than another vigilante—more than a sidekick. 

“‘Cause if I don’t…” He rested his chin in his hands. “‘Cause if I don’t, it means I’m not good enough. What kind of leader would I be if I can’t even solve a few puzzles? What kind of leader would you see me as then?”

“We don’t.”

He stared at her.

Cassie continued. “You’re our leader, yes, but that’s not all you are to us.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re our friend. You don’t have to do anything to earn our respect. We love you as you are.”

“Thanks. It makes me feel better about not knowing what a…” He glanced at the journal. “… what a ‘plaidypus’ is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s the egg-laying mammal, right?”

“Yeah, only this one is plaid.” He turned the book to her.

Cassie’s chortle turned into full-blown pig snorts at the ridiculous image. Tim couldn’t help but join as laughter rose through him like soda bubbles. The weight he didn’t know was on his chest lifted as the first giggle escaped his lips.

Wiping a tear from her eye, Cassie said, “Hey, if you still wanna go through with this, we’re with you all the way.”

Tim smiled. “That means a lot.”

The door burst open. 

“HELP!”

Tim bolted up and threw on a hoodie despite the humidity. “What’s going on?”

Bart ushered Jaime in. The latter had a half-conscious Gar in his arms. Tim shoved his things aside and helped Gar onto the couch. 

“What happened?!?” Cassie asked.

“ _No sé_ ,” said Jaime. “Khaji says his vitals look fine, but he’s not responding to anything we say or do.”

Bart said, “We think it might have something to do with this.”

From his jacket, he drew several packets of a Fun Dip ripoff and tossed it onto the table.

Cassie snapped her fingers. “I know these! They’re banned in America.”

Tim took one look at Gar’s dilated pupils and said, “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Is there a way to fix it?” Bart asked.

Tim flipped to the back of the package. “It should clear out automatically in a few hours since it’s food. Someone should stay and monitor him though, just in case.”

Jaime raised his hand. “I can.”

“Perfect.”

There was a knock at the window. 

Tim jumped and whirled around to find Kon sliding it open and shimmying through the tight space.

“Seriously? Just take the door!” Tim exclaimed.

“Nope.”

Kon landed on his head with a loud _thunk_. He brushed himself off before looking quizzically at Gar. “What’s up with him?”

Gar mumbled, “Those beans are fake news.”

“He’ll be fine,” Tim said. “In the meantime, I need your help with something.”

Four and a half hours later, Gar was fast asleep on a bed with Jaime watching him while Tim, Kon, Cassie, and Bart were sprawled in a tired, sweaty dogpile in the middle of the floor. Tim made a mental note to complain to the RV company about the AC cutting out. Rainbow sticky notes, photocopied pages, and scratch paper surrounded them like a witch’s circle.

Bart groaned. “Have we tried the A1Z26 combination yet?”

“Fifteen times,” said Tim.

Nobody complained when Kon disturbed the arrangement to peel off his shirt—in fact, the others did the same. 

Cassie wiped her brow with her shirt. “The only reason I’m keeping my bra on is ‘cause you’re all dudes.”

“Can I take off my pants too?” Bart asked. 

Cassie pulled her hair into two pigtails before handing hair ties to Tim and Bart.

As Kon pulled a stick of deodorant out of the freezer, he said, “We’re not getting anywhere anytime soon. None of our codes match the ones in the book.”

“Exactly.” Bart tied his hair in a ponytail. “It’s like the author created their own cipher.”

_Their own cipher…_

_Created their own…_

“That’s it! Bart, you’re a genius!” Tim clapped Bart’s shoulders. “Kon, get me some graph paper and a pencil.” He began scribbling. “We have twenty-six symbols to work with, and this coincides perfectly with the alphabet, assuming that’s what the author is going for. We just gotta figure out which letter lines up with what—we gotta work from scratch. So if my calculations are correct, there are 403,291,461,126,605,635,584,000,000 ways to decrypt it.”

“That’s impossible!” Cassie said.

“Give him five minutes.” Tim handed the items to Bart. 

Bart examined the book. “Hm… make that five and a half, just in case.”

While Bart did that, Tim stepped toward the back of the RV. He knocked gently on the bedframe. “How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Jaime said. “Scarab says the Smile Dip’s out of his system. He should be awake at any moment. And you?”

As though on cue, Gar stirred. He slowly rubbed his eyes.

“Bart’s figuring it out,” Tim said, “but I think we cracked it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tim sighed. “Don’t worry about me.”

Jaime pointed to a bed. “Get some sleep.”

“What?”

“Get some sleep,” Jaime repeated. “I’m not gonna let my friend drop dead for some stupid reason.”

Before Tim could reply, Bart dashed over. “I got it!”

> _⏀⌧ ☉🜃↔ ♢⌽♢§_

Tim glanced at the message and glanced at the key Bart made. Everything fell into place.

“Alright, gang. Let’s suit up.”

⎍⏙☉☉⛋🜃 🜁◫♢⌖☉ 🝤🜁🜃 ◫⨠♢☆ ⬡🜽⏙⛋⨠ ⎍🜃♢♢ 

The sun had set by the time they made it back to the metal tree. Jaime was carrying Bart on his shoulders after the latter complained about his feet hurting—a bald-faced lie for anyone who’s ever interacted with a speedster. Gar had transformed into a bloodhound, tracking the smell of iron and rust, with Kon and Cassie by his side. Once again, they had no lights other than their flashlights, but it sufficed in warding the animals away.

Tim flicked on his black light flashlight, revealing invisible ink markings on the seemingly normal drawing of the tree. It showed a spiral staircase beneath the ground, and the top branch was circled.

He pointed to it. “That should unlock the author’s bunker.”

Gar woofed and transformed into a turkey vulture. He circled the branch before landing on it. The lever turned under his weight.

Tim jumped back as the ground lowered like an elevator, and a spiral staircase activated, leading to an open door at the bottom of the trunk. 

“Who wants to go first?”

As expected, everyone touched their noses and shouted, “Not it!”

“Of course, make Tim do everything.”

“Hey man, this was your idea,” said Jaime.

The planks creaked with every step. Tim turned his flashlight up to the brightest as they descended further underground. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of dust and bug droppings.

Before long, they were at the bottom, inside the massive trunk. Brushing aside the cobweb curtain, their flashlights shined across a bizarre sight.

A steel weapons cabinet stood at the end of a small, rectangular room. A dust-covered cot was pushed against one wall; hanging above were rickety shelves that Tim would not want to sleep under. Across from that, boxes stacked to the ceiling, each labeled with a number—2020, 2030, 2040—all of which remained unopened. The tiles were cracked; posters reading, “WARNING: FALLOUT SHELTER” poorly concealed the chipped walls. Gas masks hung from pipes. An opened bean can laid on the floor.

“Dude, this place is stupid cool,” Kon said.

“It’s, like, straight out of an apocalypse movie,” Cassie added.

“How long has it been here?” Gar asked.

Tim examined the label on a barrel. “Since the Eighties, at least.”

“Guys, check it out!” Bart pulled a plastic canister out of a box. “They have Pez! Er, I guess it’s called ‘Smez’ here.”

Jaime snatched it from Bart’s hand. “We don’t need a Smile Dip repeat.”

Kon tore an old-timey map off the wall. “This is going in my dorm.”

“Wait a minute,” Tim said. “Kon, move aside.”

Kon did as he was told, revealing a giant vault door with “CAUTION: STAY OUT” printed on it. The handle squeaked when Cassie turned it. The heavy door swung open.

“Not it!” Everyone exclaimed.

“I was gonna go first, anyway.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Bunch of scaredy cats—we fought aliens for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, but the aliens were polite enough to give us a heads-up,” Jaime said. “Who knows what’s down here.”

The next room was much smaller—about the size of a public gym shower. The floor, wall, and ceiling tiles bore strange hieroglyphs, different from the book ciphers. 

“This place is creepy,” said Jaime.

“Not as creepy as Tim’s internet history.” Kon joked, playfully shoving Tim.

Tim stumbled forward. His foot met the center tile. It sank into the floor. 

The vault door slammed shut. The symbols glowed an angry red. Individually, the tiles began expanding forward, threatening to crush them all. Tim couldn’t hear himself scream over everyone else’s panicked yells. 

Gar’s eyes darted frantically. “Crazy wall things are happening!”

Jaime tried to push back them with his scarab tendrils, but to no avail. “It won’t stop!”

Even Kon struggled to hold the blocks back. “Please tell me there’s something in the book!”

Tim flipped through the book so fast he almost tore the pages. Two seconds felt like two hours as his eyes flitted across the page until he came across the section titled, “Security Room”. None of the tiles were highlighted on the page. He shined the black light.

He pointed to the first one. “There.”

Cassie spotted the first one rising to her waist. The panel turned bright blue when she hit it. “Got it!”

“And there.” Tim pointed to the floor.

Gar morphed into a puma and pounced.

Tim pointed to the ceiling. “And there.”

“Called it!” Kon said.

Tim pointed to the far wall. “And there!”

“We got it!” Bart and Jaime said.

There was a hiss, and on the other side of the room, a door slid open. The blocks didn’t stop.

Cassie shouted, “Hurry!”

The six made a break for the door. Though he was the slowest, Tim slid under the blocks before it crushed him.

Heart pounding, he asked, “Is everyone okay?”

They responded with varying degrees of nods and yesses. 

“Guys, get a load of this,” Bart said. “So retro.”

It didn’t take a Robin to figure out they were in a surveillance room. But _man_ was this stuff old. It reminded Tim of the mission control from the first moon landing. There were three monitors on each side, but with nothing displayed. The buttons were clunky and caked with years worth of dust and dead insects. Tim flicked the switches and pulled a lever, but nothing happened.

Cassie scratched her head. “I wonder what they’re surveilling.”

Tim glanced back at the sealed-off security room. A chill down his spine told him they should turn back, but with no other exit, their only option was to move forward.

Kon opened a door to what looked like an empty storage closet. “Is this it? Did we hit a dead end?”

“Wait, we’re stuck here?” Gar asked.

Bart fell to his knees. “This is it. We’re gonna starve to death. I can already see the light. So long, world. It’s been nice knowing you! And Jaime, darling, I want you to know…” He broke into song. “ _IIIII will always love yooou—_ ”

“ _Deja de ser dramático._ ”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else doing it.”

From the closet, Kon said, “I think there’s a light in here.”

“Huh?” Tim stepped inside.

The door swung shut, plunging them into darkness.

Tim groaned, “Not again.”

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“I refuse to answer that.”

Tim’s arm brushed a beaded string—probably the light Kon was referring to. He pulled it.

_SLOOSH!_

A torrent rained down from the ceiling.

_FWOOM!_

Hot steam shot out from all directions.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Above the door, a neon orange sign blinked.

> **DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE.**

What they thought was a wall turned out to be a pair of elevator-like doors. Tim put a finger to his comm. “You guys might wanna see this.”

He assumed it was a lab. It had the floor plan and equipment and acrid chemical smell of a lab. Vents crawled up and around the walls and ceiling, rattling like a coffin full of bones. But the place was devoid of life. The frigid air seeped through Tim’s clothes and left goosebumps along his skin. Chambers lined the wall—half were shattered; all were deactivated. The control panels were in similar shape, as though Bizarro played whack-a-mole with them. A cage stood in the corner, the bars bent outward, like something broke out. The dirt walls bore sponge-like tunnels, housing spiders and God-knows-what. Metal debris, glass shards, and puddles coated the floor. Fluorescent lights flickered. This would be the point in a horror movie where everyone dies.

The decontamination chamber hissed. The others stepped through. Khaji Da chirped loudly.

“Yeah, the scarab did _not_ like that,” said Jaime.

Gar said, “I know we’ve been asking a lot, but what the heck?”

Jaime scanned the tunnels. “Not sure who or what dug these—I’m not picking up any life forms.”

Tim flipped through the journal. “The only thing I can find here is an entry about the author constructing a lab and… something about containing a thing called the Shape Shifter.”

Gar rolled his eyes. “Who invited Plastic Man?”

Cassie shined her flashlight on a trail of broken glass leading to the largest chamber. “Do we wanna know?”

Tim flipped the page.

> _Once cooling has completed, the popsicles are done._

“Gee, that’s helpful.” He flipped to the next page, which had the diagram of an egg.

> _Found while excavating!_

“Interesting…”

The others peered over his shoulder.

_Watch your fingers!_

> _Fig A: Creature hatched within three days of discovery._
> 
> _DNA constantly changes_
> 
> _fig. B_
> 
> _liquid nitrogen_
> 
> _Chamber #3_

Bart pointed to the broken chamber. “That looks like the one.”

The writing on the next page was faster, sloppier. Like the author was in a hurry. The ink was smudged in some places, rendering parts unreadable. 

> _Carbon, aluminum and steel alloy tube. The power structure is small and limited within new section of laboratory. Cryogenic fluids are stored in large lumber surfaces ___ temperatures, until we fix power._
> 
> _DO NOT LET OUT!_
> 
> _Form #6: New unfamiliar form has been witnessed ___ eight times thus far. Lurks in the shadows._
> 
> _Extremely unpredictable!_
> 
> _It's too powerful!_
> 
> _IT CAN TRANSFORM!_
> 
> _New ___ has a ___ on me. Not trusting ___ my life. I won't trust him, I won't trust myself. I'm not sure I am who I am._
> 
> _The creature can change forms at will. No way to tell when it's real or not._
> 
> _IT'S PLAYING TRICKS ON ME_
> 
> _⏙☽ ⛋ ☽🜃?_
> 
> _⛋☉ 🜁🜃 ☽🜃?_

“What the f—”

Something moved. 

Tim extended his staff. Cassie unraveled her lasso. Jaime drew a sonic cannon. Bart and Gar assumed a defensive stance. Kon’s eyes glowed. Backs against each other, they huddled close, everyone on high alert.

“Nobody say a word,” Tim whispered.

There was a second of silence before Kon said, “Bootylicious.”

“What did I just tell you?”

“Two weeks ago we were playing Scrabble, and it’s not a word. Now it’s a word because it’s convenient for you.”

Cassie interjected. “Will you two shut up?”

Something stirred in the tunnels.

“Scans?” Tim asked.

Kon shook his head. “Nothing here.”

“Same,” said Jaime.

“But we just saw it move,” Gar said. “Something smells fishy. Or, er, buggy.”

Something skittered. Tim’s heart leaped to his throat. His hands clammed up under his gloves. A shadow streaked in the corner of his vision.

“There!”

A chorus of battle cries rang out. Lightning, lasers, and sonic blasts were a-flurry. A red-and-yellow tornado surrounded the thing, encasing it in a cage of lightning and wind. 

Tim craned his neck to get a closer look. “Guys, stop!”

They paused. 

He stepped forward. “It’s just a civilian.”

A kind-looking man with a brown overcoat, scraggly bears, and lab goggles pulled himself up, with Tim’s help. “Thank you, young man. But if I may ask, who are you? And how did you find this place?”

“This.” Tim pulled out the journal. “This led us.”

“My word,” said the man. “I haven’t seen this thing in ages!”

“Wait, you’re the author?” Tim’s eyes widened. “I have so many questions. Why did you write the journal? How did you build this? What’s up with this town?”

The man laughed. “You seem like a smart bunch. Come with me, and I’ll explain everything.”

Brimming with glee, Tim followed. The others followed suit. Gar and Cassie exchanged looks while Jaime muttered over his shoulder in Spanish. Bart and Kon were instantly by Tim’s side, ready to listen.

As the author led them down a dank, winding tunnel, he asked, “Where are you kids from? And what’s with the getup? Is it Halloween already?”

“We’re from out of town,” Tim said. “And it’s the middle of summer, sir. In case you, y’know, weren’t aware.”

Bart threw an arm around Tim. “We’re superheroes! Mayhaps you’ve heard of Young Justice?”

The man laughed. “I must have been down here for a long time. The only hero team I know is the Justice League, back when they first formed.”

Kon scoffed. “Yeah, well, we’re _way_ cooler than those losers.”

“Really?” the man asked, amused. “And who might you be?”

“The name’s Superboy. This is Red Robin and Kid Flash. And over there’s Beast Boy, Wonder Girl, and Blue Beetle.”

“Not to interrupt, but I have some questions for you, sir,” Tim said.

“Of course!” the author said. “Ask away!”

Tim cleared his throat. “So, um, the journal. What is it? Why did you write it?”

“Excellent question! You clearly are the brains of this operation,” said the man. “It’s simple: growing up in Gravity Falls, the strange happenings fascinated me. I’ve studied this town and spent my life cataloging every creature.”

“What about the lab?” Tim asked. “From what I saw, you built it to contain this Shape Shifter thing?”

“Astute observational skills, my boy.” The author ruffled Tim’s hair. “I constructed this lab to study the Shape Shifter in a controlled environment, but it broke out of its cryogenic chamber. It roams these tunnels with the ability to transform into anything in its memory. But since it’s never been exposed to you, I can be rest assured that you are not the Shape Shifter.”

“Let me show you my other works,” the man said.

They continued to walk and listen to the author talk about his crazy encounters. Tim clung to every word, every detail. The author was fascinating, and Tim could spend hours absorbing all the bizarre and valuable information. 

He was a little annoyed when Jaime nudged him.

“What—”

Jaime motioned for him to be quiet and handed him a can of beans. The man on the label was a carbon copy of the man standing in front of them. But then that would mean… 

The “author” turned around. “Red Robin, can I have that journal back? I have some wonderful new additions to make.”

Tim hugged the book close. He chuckled nervously. “On second thought, maybe we should keep it. The Justice League can help investigate Gravity Falls more efficiently.”

“Nonsense,” the man said. “They won’t understand. Now give. Me. The. Journal.”

He reached out. Tim held it closer. “You’re not the real author.”

“Insolent child! You leave me no choice.”

The Shape Shifter’s eyes flitted to Gar before morphing into a mirror image of Beast Boy. Tim tucked the journal under his cape and bolted in the other direction. His friends followed suit. 

The Shape Shifter Beast Boy leaped and morphed into a green vulture. It landed its aim on Tim, its talon tearing through the kevlar and sinking into his shoulder. Tim cried out in pain as blood stained his suit. Luckily, the real Gar Logan, in the form of a stallion, was there to catch Tim.

A high-pitched blast knocked the fake Beast Boy out of the air. Growling, the Beast Boy turned into a Blue Beetle. Or, more accurately, it _attempted_ to turn into Blue Beetle. It only got up to its arm when a yellow blur struck him in the jaw.

“Not on my watch!”

“Impressive,” said the Shape Shifter, “but can you keep up with yourself?”

It transformed into Kid Flash and slammed into Bart’s ribs, sending Bart flying.

“Kid!”

Jaime swooped in and caught Bart before he hit the wall and fired back with a series of staples, all of which the Shape Shifter deflected.

“You okay?” Jaime asked.

“Feeling a little moded.” Bart winced. “But with my accelerated healing, I’ll be fine.”

The fake Kid Flash laughed. “I may not have the journal, but you fools handed me everything I need on a silver platter.”

_BZZZT!_

Kon aimed his lasers at the creature’s back. But with Kid Flash’s reaction time, the Shape Shifter easily caught on and transformed into Superboy. The laser beams clashed; the air grew thick with the heat. Neither was winning, but neither surrendered.

“I can do this all day,” Superboy taunted.

“Seriously?” Kon scoffed. “I could do a better impression of me.”

_Ka-crack!_

Golden lightning shot from the tip of Cassie’s whip, striking down Superboy. She and Kon high-fived, but they were cut short when Superboy morphed into Wonder Girl.

Wonder Girl twirled her lasso. “Who’s next?”

Tim dove forward and, with a single tap of his staff, swept the ground from under Wonder Girl’s feet.

“Run!”

⛋ ☉🜄🜃⏙🜽 ⨠◫ ◫⨠🜃 ⛋☉ ⎍⏙🝤⎍🜁⛋⨠🜚 🝤🜁🜃☉🜃 🜁⛋⨠🝤☉ 

Sometimes Cassie wondered why she goes along with Tim’s ideas.

They had found a secluded section of the tunnel, next to the water main. The shapeshifter was still out there—Kon and Jaime were on the lookout. Meanwhile, Tim was frantically flipping through the pages, searching for a way to defeat the Shape Shifter.

Cassie shuddered. She added “seeing an underground monster copy her and realizing she’s better off as a hero” to her list of reasons not to turn evil.

She turned to Tim. “Find anything?”

He shook his head. “I need just a little more time. There’s gotta be a way to beat it.”

“Well, hurry.”

Pacing back and forth, Cassie’s mind went over all the ways to fight it. It was hard, given that it could turn into any of them at will. She didn’t want to think of it, but what if the Shape Shifter was among them right now?

She glanced around. Tim was studying the journal so intensely that a vein popped out of his forehead, his face screwed up like he was constipated. Jaime and Kon were drawing increasingly random comparisons between their predicament and the movie _Alien_. Bart had snuck a Smez dispenser from the fallout room and was dumping them all down his gullet. Gar was digging for bellybutton lint.

Nope. The Shape Shifter wasn’t among them.

There was a skitter. Then a gravelly voice.

“So we’ve regrouped, eh?”

A grotesque shrimp-like creature emerged from a tunnel, trailing slime behind it. It snapped its swollen, fleshy claws. When it spoke, spit flew from between its four pinchers. Light bounced off its off-white flesh and reflected in its beady pink eyes. Cassie cursed.

“Looks like your time is up,” said the Shape Shifter. “That journal is mine!”

It took a step towards Tim. Cassie drew her lasso and struck it in the eye, leaving a sizeable mark. Green slime—or was it blood?—dripped from the gash.

“Move!” Kon shouted.

He yanked off the knob and murky water burst through the pipes. The force of the current snagged every rock, bug, and person in its wake. Jaime pulled Bart out of the way, and they hovered alongside Kon. Gar took form as a piranha and fought the current. 

Cassie plugged her nose and began searching the water. _Where was Tim?_

The river sloped into a waterfall, but she couldn’t find her bearings. Her stomach dropped as she plummeted toward the bedrock. Her lungs burned like Zeus’s bolts.

Tim’s winged silhouette was not far. With one final push, her arm latched around his waist.

_Splash!_

Their bodies broke through the wall of water. Using her lasso as a grapple, Cassie swung from the ceiling pipes into a dry patch of rock. She patted Tim’s back as he coughed.

“You good?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” He pushed the wet hair from his forehead. “But I lost it. God, this is all my fault.”

The others caught up and Kon asked, “What happened? Where’s the Shape Shifter?”

Tim buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know. He got away. Worst of all, the book’s gone.” He showed them the empty cape.

“What will this mean?” Gar asked.

“It means if he gets out there, he can turn into whatever he wants,” Tim said. “We can’t even put him on a wanted list ‘cause he could be anywhere.”

Cassie opened her mouth.

“ _Stop!_ ”

She whirled around. 

Standing before her, soaking wet, holding the journal, was Tim Drake. “Don’t trust him. He’s the Shape Shifter!”

“Drop the act, imposter. You already got what you wanted,” said Cassie.

“I’m serious!”

The boys glanced at each other apprehensively; Bart shrugged. The first Tim next to her coughed into his elbow. “No. He swiped the journal from me.”

“I didn’t take anything!” Other Tim said.

“Yes, you did!” 

The two Tims lunged forward. Twin staffs collided as they pushed against each other, feet planted identically on the ground. Cassie readied her whip, but the longer she stared between them, the less she could discern who was who.

“What do we do?” Gar asked.

“Get him!” the first Tim said. “He’s the Shape Shifter!”

The second Tim said, “Don’t listen to him. You guys are my friends. _Please_ trust me.”

Kon turned to Cassie. “Is there a sign we can use? Any sign.” He ran his fingers through his hair. 

Her eyes darted back and forth. Tim swung his staff, and Tim swung back. Tim dropped a one-liner, as did Tim. Tim begged his friends to believe him, but so did Tim. It made Cassie’s head spin.

“I would never let him have the journal!” the second Tim said.

“Liar! You tricked me!” the first Tim countered. “I’m tired of your games, Shape-Shifter.”

A lightbulb went off in Cassie’s head. She whispered to Kon, who whispered to Bart, and they went down the line like a game of telephone. The boys took their fighting stances. 

She stepped forward. “I have a way to settle this.”

The first Tim’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

The second Tim said, “Thank you!”

Stretching her arms wide, Cassie let out the biggest yawn she could build up, echoing through the room. 

The second Tim released one hand from his staff as he attempted to stifle a yawn, eyes drooping.

“Ha!” exclaimed the first Tim. “Make him fall for the contagious yawn trick. Genius!”

_Whoosh!_

_Bzzt!_

_Boom!_

_Blam!_

_Ka-crack!_

Cracks spiderwebbed across the dirt wall as the first Tim collided with it. Green oozed from the deep gashes littering his chest and abdomen. That Tim fell to the floor with a dull _thud_.

“Nice try,” Cassie said, “but the real Tim Drake hasn’t slept in over forty-eight hours.”

Tim chuckled. “Yeah, I…” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I’m regretting that now.”

The Shape Shifter struggled to its feet, morphing into its default self. A plasma burn covered its entire left shoulder. Two laser holes bore through its side like snake bites. Bruises and claw marks littered its chest, and a lightning mark ran down its face.

_Clink clink._

A pair of giant staples pinned the creature to the wall.

“The book says you belong in a cryogenic freezer,” Tim said, “but I think the author will allow for substitutions.”

He snapped his fingers. Kon sucked in a deep breath. The Shape Shifter screeched as a thick layer of permafrost webbed across its body. Cassie scrunched her nose at its grotesque mouth hanging open as the ice encased it.

“That should hold it for a few hours,” Kon said. “Which is more than enough time to _get the hell out of here_.”

🝤⛋☽☽☆ ⚯♢§ ☉♢🜃🜃⚯ 

“Looks like we’re done here,” Tim said, watching the ground raise and once again conceal the bunker.

Cassie placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you never got to uncover the secrets of this place. I know how much it meant to you.”

He looked at the book, then at the team. Gar lazed across a fallen log in the form of a wildcat, his long tail swatting away mosquitos. Bart whined as Jaime whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed the dirt off his freckles. Kon, leaning against a rock, plucked a dandelion and told the others to make a wish. They wished for pancakes.

Tim said, “That’s okay.”

Cassie’s eyebrows flew up almost cartoonishly.

He chuckled. “You were right, Cassie. I’m not Batman; I don’t need to take on every case.”

Tim felt along the trunk until he found the panel.

“Hey, Tim!” Kon called. “We’re taking your credit card and getting food. Wanna come?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up in a minute.” He turned to Cassie. “Do me a favor and make sure they don’t go near that Smile Dip stuff.”

Cassie shot him finger guns. “You got it.”

Tracing his thumb along the spine, Tim turned the journal in his hands. Whoever the author was, they must have spent their entire life writing it. Most people would call it obsessive. Tim liked to call it dedication. There’s no such thing as wasted time when it’s spent out of love. He glanced at his friends before turning back to the transmitter switches.

_Right, right, left._

The compartment slid open. 

“It’s been fun, but I can’t stick around. Good luck. I know your author will come back for you.”

Sighing contently, he placed the book inside. 

“Dude, hurry up!”

“Coming!”

Tim flipped the switch, sealed the hatch, and closed the panel.

Someone else can have this mystery.

⏙⌽🝤🜁◫🜽 ⨠🜃🜃⌖☉ 🝤◫ ⊗⌽⛋🝤 ⚯🜽🜃🝤🜃⨠⌖⛋⨠🜚 🝤◫ ⬡🜃 ⏙♢🜃↔ 🜁⛋🜽☉⎍🜁 

**Author's Note:**

> A: ⏙  
> B: ⬡  
> C: ⎍  
> D: ⌖  
> E: 🜃  
> F: 🜂  
> G: 🜚  
> H: 🜁  
> I: ⛋  
> J: ⏀  
> K: ⌧  
> L: ♢  
> M: ☽  
> N: ⨠  
> O: ◫  
> P: ⚯  
> Q: ⊗  
> R: 🜽  
> S: ☉  
> T: 🝤  
> U: ⌽  
> V: 🜳  
> W: 🜄  
> X: ↔  
> Y: ☆  
> Z: §


End file.
